


Sovereigns Are A Dwarf's Best Friend

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Moulin Rouge! Fusion, F/M, Indentured Servitude, Leliana - Freeform, M!Hawke - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 09:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6112415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Say what you want about Varric Tethras, but he certainly could put on a show.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The customers liked him– he was dwarven enough to be considered 'exotic', but without the off-putting beard, and he was in the best shape of his life. On top of that, he was not exactly a slouch in the bedroom. Business, as they say, was booming.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He only had one rule. Never fall in love.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>And then she walked in.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sovereigns Are A Dwarf's Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Satine86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/gifts).



Cassandra Pentaghast has never even heard of the Blooming Rose before today, but she finds herself standing awkwardly in line with Leliana, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

The redhead chuckles. “Tell me again,” she drawls, “how watching men dance is in any way shameful?”

“Shut up,” hisses Cassandra, “you know very well how little… dancing…. is involved!”

“On the contrary – it is a wonderful artform.”

“Must you be so smug?”

She laughs again. “Oh, Cassandra. I’m simply excited for you! You finally have a chance to see your favourite author. It’s wonderful, truly.”

Cassandra rubs her arms, keeping out the winter chill through sheer force of will. “Yes, well. That he has become the bartender of this particular… establishment… is just – oh, it is _ridiculous_ ,” she whines. “Why could we not arrange to meet him elsewhere?”

“It will all become clear,” intones Leliana, and if she looks away then Cassandra does not notice.

Ahead of them, the line advances.

*

Inside, the atmosphere is lively, the patrons in high spirits as men in various states of undress walk around with warm smiles and more than a wink or two. One in particular draws Cassandra’s gaze - a tall man with dark hair and a hint of cheekiness in his smirk - but she quickly looks away, feeling the blush burn her cheeks.

Leliana insists on getting a table, and with one look at the packed bar Cassandra is inclined to agree. She knew she might have to wait until the end of the night, but still there is something of a sinking feeling in her stomach. She tries to guess which of the two men serving might be her target - no, she thinks, this is not work, this is something far more important - but gives up when the lights dim.

Leliana looks gleeful. “It’s about to start!”

“I cannot believe we are really doing this,” whispers Cassandra, but she cannot quite keep a hint of anticipation from her voice. In truth, it was a little exciting. She had heard stories of places like this - often spoken through hangovers from a ‘ladies night out’. But to experience it firsthand… well, she had no shame in admitting it was something far different from her usual Friday night.

And then the lights go out.

In the quiet, Cassandra feels a sudden thrill up her spine.

“Humans,” drawls a rich and husky voice, “are glad to die for love…”

The stage explodes in a riot of colours, men in costumes and big smiles dancing around for the showy number. But she is drawn to the source of that voice - a dwarf, centre stage, taking the lead on the song. It is a flashy affair, various cannons of paint and sparkles going off, and it was a song most would already know - but in his hands it is enchanting and she finds herself enthralled by his seductive moves. She leans forward slightly in her chair, catching herself - but not before he catches her eye and throws her a smile that sends a warmth through her chest.

All too soon it is over, and Cassandra joins in with the applause, smile bright as she cheers with Leliana.

The dark-haired man grabs the microphone, grinning despite the paint that had splashed across his nose. “Ladies and gentlemen, the incomparable Varric Tethras!”

Cassandra stops, her smile falling. “What?”

It could not be - it simply could not. But at his name and the surge in cheers, the dwarf laughs, offering a short bow, and she swallows as he waves to the crowd.

Beside her, Leliana looks outrageously smug. “So. Want to meet him?”

*

Varric takes a deep breath as he tugs the loose robe on. It had been a good night, surprisingly - decent tips, and Hawke had been on fine form too. They had both left with interested parties, and now he had to prepare for his.

Opening the door to his chambers, he smiles brightly.

“Now, where were we?”

The woman jumps, and there is a look of terror in her expression - Varric inwardly cringes. She had clearly been set up by the redhead, but money had swapped hands, so he would guide her through it as best he could. He offers his hand, smile softening.

“It’s alright. I don’t bite.”

She blushes, but smiles - a tender little thing that lights up her face. She is tall, even for a human, but with her short hair and well-built frame she could have easily held her own. He might even have thought her as the less-fair gender but for the delicate swipe of makeup on her eyes and lips, and the hint of light perfume that lingered. She was, Varric thinks, quite striking. Taking his hand, she lets him lead her through the door.

“Sorry. I am not usually this nervous.”

“Don’t worry, plenty of people are. Would it help you relax if I gave you a massage?”

“What?”

“I’ve got some oils through there -”

“Ah!” She holds her hands up, shaking her head. “That is not necessary! I - I am not a - what I mean is I am here because of your books!”

He stares at her for a long moment. And then the urge overcomes him, and he falls apart, laughing hysterically.

“You like my _writing?_ ” he manages to gasp. At her terrified nod he doubles over again,

“I – are you… are you alright?”

“Oh, man, I needed that. Thank you, honestly. I never thought I’d see the day an attractive woman came to me to talk about my _literature_.” The last word is teased out, almost an insult, but he is still smiling broadly. “Sorry, what was your name?”

“Cassandra. Cassandra Pentaghast.”

“Well, Cassandra, it’s nice to meet my one and only fan.”

“I – I was hoping I could -”

“You brought something for me to read?”

“To listen to! It, ah... it is a poem. I know poetry is not your passion, but I thought you might be able to give me some pointers nonetheless.”

“I'd love to. Come and sit down.” He leads her through to an open area lavishly decorated in the Rivaini style, bright colours and jewelled fabrics.

“This is your room?”

He smiles. “You like it?”

She swallows. “It is… bright.”

A short laugh escapes him as he sits. “Yeah, me neither. I don't sleep here unless I have a client.”

She clears her throat, hands shaking slightly as she brings the paper up to her face. “I -”

“No, no.” He gently pulls her arms down, lowering the page. “If you have the page in front of you, I can't hear you. It's alright, just relax.”

She takes another deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment.

> _“I do not have the words, the time,_  
>  the rhyme to say this heart of mine  
>  belongs to you, so please define  
>  how I may climb this hill sublime  
>  and find your hand in mine – entwined.
> 
> _I do not know the way to go_  
>  to show you what my heart does sow;  
>  that even though you can bestow  
>  your love on any who come or go,  
>  I wish only to hear – I know.
> 
> _I do not understand how to_  
>  push through the hue of blue  
>  that sits upon my chest and skews  
>  my heart so true – could you break through  
>  and perhaps say – I love you?”

Something stirs inside him, something unmoved by years of suitors. He stares at her for a long moment, before he clears his throat.

“Wow.”

She covers her face with the paper, a soft groan passing her lips. “I know, I _know_ , it is awful, I just do not understand how to find the right -”

“It's _beautiful_.”

She peeks over the papers, eyes wide. “What?”

“You're right, poetry isn't my passion when it comes to writing. But I read a _lot_. Kind of have to, you know? Women come here for three things, and romance is one of them, so trust me when I say that your writing is beautiful.” He leans back, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, whoever you wrote that for is going to fall in love!”

She blushes, the crimson sweeping over her face. _Bingo_ , he thinks. _A romantic_.

“Truly?”

“Yeah. Even _my_ hollow heart felt something.”

She drops her arms, staring at him. “Your… what?”

He rolls his eyes. “You can’t be _surprised_ , surely. Can’t go around having feelings in this line of work, it’s bad for business.”

“That is awful!”

“Not really.”

“If you do not feel, then you cannot love!”

He shrugs. “Yeah. And?”

“ _And?!_ ” Her eyes are wider, horrified at his casual tone. “Love is… love is a _wonder_ , Varric! You wrote of it in your books, and it won wars! It saved people! It is - it is the most absolute truth we can possibly know!”

“It’s bullshit,” he deadpans, “and it’s dangerous.”

He grabs her wrist, pulling her forward -

“Oh!”

\- and then his lips are flush against hers, hand coming up to bury itself in her hair.

For something so unplanned, it is a surprisingly _good_ kiss, thinks Varric. She drops her papers, hands coming up to his sides, and he is acutely aware of every point at which they touch. Perhaps, suggests a small voice he has not paid attention to in a long time, this is what she meant. This is what it is, to feel.

He pushes it away, pulling back from her.

She blinks, staring at him. “Varric...”

“You felt that, yeah?” His voice is rough, and she shivers slightly at the sound, nodding. “Good.” He forces a smile. “See? You don’t have to love someone to _feel_ anything.”

“I -” Her jaw snaps shut, her eyes still a little dazed. “I just -”

Someone knocks at the door, and they both turn at the sound of a key.

“Shit,” he whispers. “Let me do the talking.”

“What?”

“Trust me.”

Bartrand enters, a face like thunder. “What’s going on in here?” He glares at Cassandra, who - to her credit - does not shrink away. “You didn’t pay for more than an hour. Why are you still here?”

Varric has exactly one second to think. This was an opportunity that would not come by again, and it had to be now or never.

He leans back, shaking his head. “Now, now, Bartrand, play nice with my ghost writer.”

The only person more surprised than Cassandra is Bartrand. “Ghost writer?”

“Yeah, well, you always said my books were a waste of time.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “But a biography will bring in the punters, if it's in the right tone. So I figure, get a woman to write it.” He waves a hand towards the desk. “We made a good start, if you want to read it.”

“You started?” There is an edge to his voice that makes Varric’s heart quicken, and he quells the anxiety with his usual smile.

“Just the basics. Our rough childhood, the usual. Nothing about the state of things now, that’ll come later. Obviously discretion is key, so nobody’s names are involved, and I’m not talking about money.” He emphasises the last part, earning a curious look from Cassandra and a slight nod from his brother. Not even he was foolish enough to suggest mentioning the slave trade that was their arrangement in the brothel.

“I suppose she gets an advance for this,” murmurs Bartrand.

“She was here with her publisher this evening. Details to be finalised in the morning.”

“She’s quiet.”

Cassandra manages a weak smile. “Better at writing than talking,” she offers, and Varric sends her a grateful look.

“Uh-huh.” Bartrand sizes her up for a moment, before waving a hand. “Fine. But the final draft goes through me.”

“Naturally.” Varric leans back, appearing relaxed. “And I’ll take the cover shot from our back catalogue.”

“Good thinking, for once.” The barb does not sting like it used to. “Keep the boys out of this. They’ll only get jealous.”

Damn. He had been hoping to get Hawke in on this, but he could manage alone. Varric nods. “Sure thing.”

*

As the door closes, Cassandra wobbles.

“Hey, hey - come and sit down, you look terrified.” His hands are warm around her wrists, that easy smile back on his face.

“I cannot - I cannot write a book,” she breathes. “I cannot write a _poem_ , never mind a book!”

“Sit,” he insists, and she finds herself pleasantly surprised by the comfort. “You don’t have to do _anything_. I’m gonna take care of it, alright? You just need to smile when you leave and then never tell anyone you were here.”

She stares at him. “What is going on?”

“Nothing you need to worry abo-”

“Do _not_ patronise me.” She pulls her hands out of his grip, scowling. “I am not an idiot, nor am I a fool. Speak plainly, or not at all.”

He hesitates for a long moment, and she rather thinks he has decided on the latter. But then something in his expression shifts, and the charm and grace is gone, replaced by something far more honest - tiredness.

“The truth?” He takes a deep breath. “The truth is… this isn’t a brothel. Well, it is, but none of the guys here would have chosen it. We’re here because we owe a debt, and we’re working to pay it off.”

“Indentured servitude?” She swallows. “Surely that is illegal -”

“Very, unless you’re clever and careful. And Bartrand is both.”

“Your brother is - wait, your own _brother_ demands this of you?”

“I… I have a debt I can’t repay. It’s not a story I like to tell. But the others, they just fell on hard times. Bartrand’s a loan shark by trade, but this became a way to keep people in debt - room and board is always going up, as well as other costs, and debts that should have been paid off within a month are still going years later.”

She reaches for his hand. “That is _awful._ ”

He nods, swallowing. Suddenly Cassandra sees the weight of it on his shoulders. “I know,” he says finally. “That’s why I need to tell people. That’s why I’m writing the book.”

“The truth of it. He will never stand to see it published, surely -”

“A secret book,” he corrects. “And that’s why I said what I said. I’ll write a real autobiography, but when it comes to sending it off I’ll switch it for the truth. Once it’s out there, hopefully the others can get free.”

“And you?”

“I can’t. I’ve made my peace with that.”

“Varric -”

“This is for them. For Hawke. He’s only here because of me anyway, I owe him better.”

She bites her lip, looking away for a moment. She wanted to do something - anything - but knew that acting out of turn would only bring harm upon Varric and the others.

“What can I do to help?” she says finally, turning to look at him. “As your ‘ghost writer’.”

“You don’t have to -”

“If you think for one moment that I am going to let this pass, you have no idea who you are talking to.”

He smiles slightly. “Well, we barely know each other -”

“Varric.” Her hand tightens around his. “I cannot let this pass. I _will_ not let this pass. And if the women out there knew, they would agree with me. Your book is the safest way to tell them, and I would aid you in that if I can. So tell me, what can I do to help?”

He stares up at her for a long moment.

“You're going to be bad for business,” he murmurs, fingers light as they brush against her hair. And then he smiles, a warm bright thing that she mirrors. “I kinda love that.”

“I thought you did not love,” she counters, tongue peeking out from behind her teeth.

He laughs. “Smartass,” he drawls, kissing her knuckles. “Alright, we need to write a book…”

*

Weeks pass, and Cassandra visits regularly, even to the point of waiting outside his room whilst he took care of clients. Something about that does not sit right with him - that she could hear him... working... was a prospect he did not care for, though he could not say why. In the end, they arrange specific times so as not to overlap with paying business, and something in his chest eases.

It is only a matter of time before it happens.

After all, reasons Varric, she is an attractive woman, and he is an attractive man. They talked regularly, shared good humour, and she did not expect anything from him. And they had, despite a strange start, ended up growing quite fond of one another.

He supposes that is why he almost fucks it up.

“I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m really horny, and you’re really hot. Can we fuck? Like, now?”

Cassandra splutters, dropping the draft they had been working on all week. “What?” She backs into the dresser, eyes wide. “I – no! That would – Maker, that would be a bad -”

He grinds against her, revelling in her strangled gasp. “Oh, honey,” he drawls, “it doesn't _have_ to be a bad thing.”

“It is not that -” She bites her lip, closing her eyes.

“Then what? Because you _look_ like you're enjoying it, and I haven't even brought my best moves to the table yet.”

She shakes her head tersely, and he chuckles, pulling away and grinning as her body tries to follow unbidden.

“Cassandra...”

“You do not love me,” she whispers in a rush, covering her face with her hands. “Oh, Maker take me, I am _sorry_ -”

“Hey, hey, it's alright.” He stills, stepping forward to rest his hands on her waist. “What did you say?”

“I cannot – I mean, not with someone who -”

He lets out a sigh. “Move your hands, I can't hear you. Someone who what?”

She peeks out through her fingers, a sad look in her eyes. “Someone who does not love me,” she mumbles.

And his heart stops in his throat.

If he were a better man, he thinks, he would stop this. He would smile softly and tell her he was sorry, he would take her by the hand and pull her to her feet and let her walk away. He wants to be a better man, he really does.

“Cassandra.” His voice is tight. He reaches for her hands, pulling them from her face and pressing his lips against each palm.

“Varric?” Her voice trembles, hopeful.

The words would not come, not today – perhaps not ever. He had a rule, and it had lasted him a long time. But this woman... Maker, this woman has his heart, whether he can say it aloud or not. He wants to be a better man, and right now that means showing her what his voice cannot say.

He kisses the inside of her wrist, closing his eyes at the soft intake of breath. Her free hand cups his chin, her own lips kissing his forehead.

“Varric,” she whispers against his skin. “Oh, Varric.”

Whether she understands or not, she pulls him towards the bed, and he supposes that it is enough, despite the part of him that wants to do right. Still, he takes his time pulling her clothes off, gentle touches to soft skin and quick kisses that leave her smiling and eager for more.

“Varric, I want to -” Her hands reach for his belt, but he gently presses her back against the bed.

“You first,” he murmurs. “I want to give you this.”

Her eyes widen as his lips kiss a trail up her thigh. “ _Oh_. Nobody has - I mean, I have not -”

“Then let me.” He smiles up at her, before lowering his mouth to her core. Her hands slide into his hair, grip tightening as his tongue runs across her clit.

“Oh – oh, _Maker_ , Varric, _please_ -”

He curves his fingers as he pushes into her, drinking in the sight of her body arching against him. “You're gorgeous,” he murmurs. “Has nobody ever done this -”

“Never,” she gasps, “but if you stop now I'll never – oh, there, yes yes _yes_ -”

It is quite the sight, he thinks, before she shoves his head back down and his tongue takes over, urging her ever onwards to her glorious finale.

“Varric - Varric, _oh_ -”

Her legs tighten around his ears, her cry echoing around the room as she comes, releasing him finally as her hands reach for his shoulders.

“Come here - I want to -”

He chuckles, crawling up to meet her, and is surprised when she pulls him into a tender kiss. It is lingering and sweet, and she smiles as she pulls away.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

He smiles gently. “Any time.”

“Your turn.”

He starts slightly as he realises she has undone his belt with little ceremony, laughing as she tries to shove his pants down. “Are you sure?”

“I want this, Varric.” She lifts his chin. “I want you.” And she kisses him again, no real urgency to it, just enjoying the way their lips melded together. He moans as her tongue runs across his lip, lining himself up against her body.

It was strange to realise, but the thought arrives and does not leave. She wanted _him_ \- not the chest hair, not the man he pretended to be, but _him._ It was something wondrous, he thinks, and then he does not think at all.

Her body moves with his, legs wrapping around his waist as he rocks into her.

“Cassandra...”

Her hands frame his face, kissing him hard as she holds his gaze. “Please – please, Varric – I want you, _all_ of you, please -”

He clings to her, pouring his love and need and sheer desire into his touch. He kisses her, caresses her, _loves_ her until she cries out his name in a tone that makes his chest ache.

“Oh – _oh_ , Cassandra -”

And he comes undone, spilling into her with a groan. She reaches up to kiss him, the feel of her lips lingering long after she pulls away.

“Mmm.” He chuckles weakly as he pulls out. “I've, uh... I've never done that before. Not like that.”

She smiles lazily, head propped on her hand as she watches him clean himself up. “Bullshit,” she drawls.

“No, I mean -” He grasps for words. “I've never – you know, made...”

“You've never made love?” She takes the cloth from his hands, tending to herself.

“Not with someone I – not with someone like you.” He settles back against the bed, lifting an arm up. She snuggles up to him, his arm draping over her shoulders. “Not like this. _Never_ like this.”

Her leg drapes over his. “Is it so different?”

 _Yes. Maker, yes. It's so much more_ \- “In it's way,” he replies lightly.

She nuzzles into his chest. “What are you thinking about?”

“Not much,” he murmurs, stroking her hair lightly. “Just how wonderful life is, now you're in the world.”

*

It must show, Varric realises later, on his face - that look of a man in love.

“You look ridiculous,” drawls Hawke. “Are you finally losing your mind?”

“Not much of it to lose,” he deadpans, and the pair share a laugh before Hawke claps him on the back.

“Seriously, though, I’m happy for you. Of all of us, you deserve something good.”

“Thanks, buddy. I just hope it’s the start of better days for all of us.”

“Better days?” asks Bartrand, and Hawke freezes as the man approaches.

Varric smiles. “After tomorrow. With the business we drum up at the auction, it should be good for all of us. Right?”

Bartrand rolls his eyes. “How poetic of you, brother. You’ve been spending too much time with that writer. Come on, you need to get ready for tonight. I have someone lined up for you.”

The ball. Varric had forgotten, in truth - an annual ball to showcase the best of the Blooming Rose, with an auction the next day to secure the services of the men for a night. It was one of the hottest tickets in town, and a huge moneymaker for the brothel.

Varric swallows, the levity of his day with Cassandra fading fast. He falls into step with his brother.

“Who?”

“A baroness. She’s got pockets as deep as the old Roads Pa used to babble on about, and she’s taken a shine to you already. So you just need to charm her and win her bid, and we’ll have a nice little grower to keep hold of until she gets old or poor.”

“Just a wine and dine, then.”

“Dancing, but if she asks for more I would be disappointed if you didn’t say yes.” He frowns. “You alright?”

“Just tired. I’ll be fine.”

“You should take some crystals before tonight.”

“I don’t need them -”

“Varric. This woman is important. Take some crystals.”

Crystals of red lyrium were the new it-drug. Varric had been introduced to them by a client, and Bartrand had seized upon the opportunity to get more out of his team. Thankfully, few took them - Varric was sure they were worse than anything else on the streets, but could do little about it in his own case. He had managed to keep Hawke off the stuff, and that was enough.

“Alright. Alright.”

Bartrand smiles, a shadow of the genuine ones Varric remembers from their childhood. “That’s my boy.”

*

The ball is a cacophony of colour and noise, and Cassandra finds herself quite overwhelmed. Given that she was not to be bidding on the men, she had opted out of wearing a dress, instead donning a tasteful suit that did not stand out from the crowd - in fact, one woman had awkwardly asked for her name, before realising she was not one of the men. Still, she feels a pang of envy as a gaggle of women in various silks and laces rush past her.

Varric is, as expected, the belle of the event, far too busy to spare her even a glance. But there was something… strange, about him. She could not quite put her finger on it. He was loud, louder than usual, and there was an urgency to his movements that she could not place.

Still, he seemed to be enjoying the event, and that was something.

A woman approaches him, accompanied by Bartrand - her presence is quite powerful, and Cassandra wonders how much money she has behind her words. But Varric is charming, and she simpers as they all do.

Something must show on her face, because Bartrand smiles over at her in a way that holds no affection.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please find a partner and take to the floor, the dance is about to begin.”

Cassandra slinks to the corner, watching as Varric and the woman lead the way. She was a dwarven woman, perfectly suited to him in this perfect bubble of civility. Cassandra wonders if she knows about the price he pays for evenings like this.

The band strikes up a sultry number, and though many of the men are adept in the tango, all eyes appear to be on the couple of the hour. Varric is a force of nature on the dancefloor, it seems, performing lifts and ducks with ease. Cassandra thinks of his arms lifting _her_ and swallows. No time to be swept up in sentiment. Their eyes are locked on one another, and they act as if nobody in the world existed but them alone. It is romantic. It is attractive. To Cassandra, it is awful.

She slips out into the courtyard, taking a deep breath.

“I'm sorry.” Hawke's voice is quiet, and she turns to find him leaning against the wall, suit rumpled.

“Hawke -”

“He's different, you know. He's different because of you. This whole thing, tonight? That's who he was before.” He pushes away from the brickwork, glancing towards the door. “He's better than this. This is just... business. This isn't _him._ ”

“I do not think I can endure it,” she murmurs, arms wrapping around herself. “This... lie upon lie that you all must live. How do I know what is truth?”

He shrugs. “You feel it. Your heart will always seek the truth.”

A soft laugh breaks through the quiet evening air, and Hawke pulls on her arm, dragging her behind the shrubbery.

“Why, Master Tethras,” the baroness simpers, leading him through the courtyard, “you are quite the charmer.”

“You make it a joy,” he replies smoothly. “I don't often get to meet such a beautiful woman.”

Cassandra closes her eyes, and Hawke squeezes her arm. Endure, his eyes beg. This is not him.

“Oh, you flatter me so. You must have fallen for quite a few of your clients over the years, after all!”

“None,” he says, in a voice that is thick with emotion as he pulls her in close.

“Not one?” Her voice, quiet, surprised, carries surprisingly well.

“Well,” he says, “perhaps one _very_ recent surprise…”

Cassandra does not linger. Slipping past Hawke, she heads back inside and walks through the main room, a brisk pace as she heads for the front door. Fists clenched, she swallows hard. _Not here. I will not cry here._

Falling against the wall, the tears come in earnest. It aches, oh it aches in the hollow of her chest, and she cannot stop the guttural sobs as they wrack her body.

Hands rest on her shoulders, soft hands and a softer voice. “Come here,” murmurs Leliana, “come here, it will be alright.”

“Why?” she gasps. “It is more than I can stand. Why?”

Leliana cups her cheeks. “Oh, Cassandra. You gave him everything.”

“A mistake,” she whispers. “You warned me, I should not have -”

“Hush,” Leliana smiles. “I know you view me as cold and uncaring at times, but I understand love if only because I long for it with every fibre of my being. But you! You lived, did you not? You loved and lived, and that is more than many people manage in a lifetime.” She pulls back, brushing the tears from her cheeks. “Remember that, tomorrow.”

She shakes her head. “Tomorrow is the auction, I cannot go -”

“Cassandra.” Leliana lifts her chin. “We can put all of this to bed tomorrow, and I want you to help me.” She looks rueful. “I admit, I haven’t been entirely honest with you about my motives…”

*

Varric wakes up curled around the sheets, arms empty and heart hurting. _Fool_ , he thinks. _Maker take me, I am a fool._

Breakfast is a sparse affair - nobody wants to be bloated before the auction, and the tables are more occupied with makeup than food. But Varric picks at some fruit anyway, feeling the strain from last night’s lyrium intake.

Hawke grabs his arm as he heads to get dressed.

“Oi. You should know - your girl was in the gardens last night. She overheard you talking to the baroness, but she ran off before you stopped acting.”

His heart sinks like a stone. “Shit.”

“Yeah. I tried to explain, I really did -”

“No, it’s not your fault. I should have realised - shit. Shit, she’s not going to come back.”

“She wouldn’t miss the auction, surely?”

“Yes she would. We’ll have to finish the book ourselves, pretend like it’s come from her, and smuggle out the real manuscript… somehow. I’ll figure it out.” But more pressing in his heart is her absence from his life. He had fallen for Cassandra in ways he had never expected, and now he would have to pick up his life again and continue in the knowledge that his heart was somewhere out there with her.

He did not think he could do that.

*

The auction is a roaring success, as it usually is. Everyone smiles the right amount, even Varric, and Bartrand takes him aside before his own listing to offer rare praise.

“With any luck, the new kid’ll be all paid up. Gives the rest of them hope. Well done.”

Varric feels sick. His own winnings would go towards Hawke’s tab, and hopefully between the pair of them they could raise the two-hundred required to secure his freedom. Oh, Bartrand would doubtless find another loophole or charge, but Hawke had been sold to a very happy punter for a hundred, and Varric knew he was good for at least that much, if not more. His friend would be free, he would make sure of that.

He manages to fix a smile on his face as he heads to the podium.

“Ah, now, ladies and gentlemen, we come to the prize jewel of the Blooming Rose, my dear baby brother Varric!” Bartrand smiles as Varric offers a turn, to various cheers. “Now, shall we begin at fifty sovereigns?”

Bidding is quick and aggressive - a conglomerate of women had apparently pooled together to try and best the baroness, but at one hundred and fifty sovereigns they falter.

“One hundred and sixty-three sovereigns.” The baroness smiles smugly as the other women mutter, counting their coins and coming up short.

And then someone else stands up.

“Nine hundred and eighty sovereigns.”

Varric's head snaps up at the voice. “Cassandra?”

She does not spare him a glance, instead staring straight at a shocked Bartrand, hands on hips. “That should be enough to cover everyone's debt, should it not?”

Bartrand does not respond, taking a step back -

“I would not do that if I were you,” purrs Leliana behind him. “We have the place surrounded. In the name of the Inquisition, you are under arrest.”

“The Inquisition?” Varric feels weak at the knees. “All that time, she was -”

Leliana shakes her head. “I brought her in last night. Everything that came before was a happy coincidence.” Leliana squeezes his arm briefly. “Fix this,” she murmurs in a warning tone. “She is not one to give second chances lightly.”

He catches her eyes as she approaches the podium, watches her as she hands Leliana the cuffs for Bartrand. “Make sure they are tight,” she adds in a low voice, “for I would see him hurt.”

She turns on her heel, and his heart plummets.

“Wait!” He grabs her wrist. “Wait, I -”

“Varric, stop. You never lied to me. You made your stance quite clear.”

His fingers wrap between hers, holding her hand tight. “Cassandra.”

She turns to look at their joined fingers. “You –“

“You can’t just – look. You came into this world and now you’ve broken the glass ceiling, and you can’t just – you can’t just _leave_. You can’t. I need you, Cassandra. I _need_ you.”

“You need _help_ ,” she says softly, “not me. You have been a prisoner here - captive in more ways than one. You need to talk to someone, and you need to -”

“You heard me last night, didn’t you? You heard me talking to the baroness. Hawke told me.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t - I couldn’t do anything. All I could think of was the woman I’ve fallen for. All I could think of was _you_.”

“But your rule -”

He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her in close. “Hang the rule,” he murmurs. “I... I love you.”

“Oh!” The baroness squeaks, rushing over with wide eyes. “Is this her? Is she the one?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Yeah, she's the one.”

“Oh, well, _now_ I understand!” She swats his arm. “Don't let her out of your sight!”

“What was -”

“She asked me back to her room and I fobbed her off with an excuse that she saw right through. So she asked who you were, and... well, she was quite kind about it all, really. Let me slink away and promised she wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Oh. Oh, I thought -”

“I know. I know, and you had every right to assume that. But I swear, Cassandra, despite what it looked like, I was a gentleman the whole night.” He tilts his head slightly. “I missed you.”

“Oh.” Her eyes shine, and he smiles, reaching up to brush away the rogue tear. “Really?”

“The greatest thing I’ve ever learnt is to love... and be loved, in return.”

“Oh,” she breathes, the most brilliant smile on her face as she wraps her arms around his neck. “Oh, _Varric_.”

“Don’t go. Don’t go without me. You’re right, I need help, but… I need you too. I need -”

And then the world wobbles. He stumbles, and she catches him under the arms.

“Varric?”

“Jus'... need a minute -” He needs more than a minute, he already knows that. His heart races in his chest, each breath an effort, and he feels very cold.

“Varric?!” She sinks to the floor with him, grasping at his hand. “Varric, what's wrong?”

He smiles weakly, reaching to stroke her cheek. “S'alrigh',” he slurs. “Jus' tired. Long day. Found someone t'love me.”

“It's the red lyrium,” Hawke mutters, kneeing by his side. “Call for a medic. Now.”

Cassandra cups his cheek, forehead pressed against his. “Stay with me, Varric,” she whispers. “Stay with me. _I do not know the way to go_ -”

“Cassandra.” His words are slow, his eyes heavy. “I never did say thanks for the poem, did I? You're a wonderful writer.”

“Varric - please, dear heart, stay -”

“Told you someone’d fall in love over it. It was beautiful. Just like you.” He takes a deep breath. “Just like...”

“Varric? Varric?!”

His eyes close, and all he can feel is her hand on his face. “Just like you,” he breathes, before the darkness takes him.

*

The machines beep gently, and his chest moves up and down in perfect rhythm.

She understands the Starkhaven Coma Scale intimately now. He started out with a score of five. Now he is stuck on a three – the lowest, unresponsive on all grades. They have no answers to the questions she cannot voice. Instead they offer only slim comfort that his condition may improve.

She read somewhere that patients in comas could still hear stimuli from the outside world. She had hoped for months that he could hear her still. She had read to him, fantastical fictions and romantic poetry, she had told him of her life and the people around them who wished for his recovery. She had even indulged in her own stories, where he had woken up and smiled that crooked smile, and she had taken his hand and they had walked away from that place, started over somewhere new.

But even dreams fade, in time.

“Varric?”

He is still. He sleeps, she thinks, and then she pushes that thought away. _Not today._ She sits next to him, thumb stroking his knuckles, taking comfort in his solid warmth.

“The trial convened today to pass judgement over your brother.” She smiles slightly. “I do not think he will be a bother to anyone for a long time. Many of your friends testified. They were brave.” She swallows. “They showed your picture in court. I am not ashamed to say that I cried.”

Many others had cried too, when the pictures of his scars had been shown. She wonders how he had kept going, even in those dark days. Perhaps his writing had helped.

“I, ah... I wrote our story. I hope you do not mind, but I had to put it down in words.” She smiles again, stronger now. “You changed me, you know. I never thought… never, in all my life, would I find love in a brothel. And yet there you were, dear heart. I hope you were happy for a time, with me.”

His hand is warm. It amazes her, that simple fact. As if he might yet wake.

“They say you cannot hear me anymore.”

It hurts. But she cannot watch him wither away, not now. The doctors had shown her the scans, had explained the patterns. He was no longer here. Still, she had to say goodbye. The kiss she presses to his lips is soft, sweet.

“I love you,” she whispers, “and I am so glad I found you. My dear, dear heart.”

She hums softly, one hand holding onto his tightly. The song had kept her going as his condition had deteriorated. _Your song_ , she thinks with a weak smile as the last tears begin to fall.

“How wonderful... life is...”

 _Click_. The noise of the machines dies away, and his chest falls for the last time.

“... now you're in... the world.”

_**fin.** _


End file.
